The farmer who has sown his seeds
Is much annoyed to find that weeds
Have grown in place of golden grain,
And so it is with all. No pain

Is worse than for a soul to find
No sympathy from human kind
To feel that all it does is lost,
What e'er its pains, what e'er the cost

That briars of cruelty have grown
Instead of seeds of kindness sown
That weeds of selfishness displace
The grain of God's forgiving grace

And thorns of base ingratitude,
The Savior's sweet similitude.
The soul in sad humility
Still longs for love and sympathy.